


Roommate Needed: Cooking Skills Optional, Good Music Taste Required

by azure_mirror, TakingOverMidnight3482



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: And a lot of swearing, But same, College AU, Langst, Multi, Oh, but like lowkey, coran is gay af, im too tired for more tags, megan u dumb bitch i love u and ur art, oh my god they were roommates, roommate au, so lowkey tw for alcohol mentions, they all get drunk at one point and start plotting to murder corporate fast food chains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 07:56:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17935853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azure_mirror/pseuds/azure_mirror, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TakingOverMidnight3482/pseuds/TakingOverMidnight3482
Summary: Keith wasn't doing this. He was not doing this. He was not stopping to stare at this flyer, at this stupid, dumb flyer asking for a roommate. He was not taking his phone out, he was not copying the guy's number down, not taking a picture of the flyer.He was certainly not taking the flyer off the post for further inspection.Nope.He was not.~~Aka, Pidge and Hunk are studying abroad, Lance needs a temporary roommate, Keith answers his flyer, and Allura is going to fight the McDonald's headquarters. Shiro is just trying to live his life.





	Roommate Needed: Cooking Skills Optional, Good Music Taste Required

**Author's Note:**

> Fuck, this has taken...it's been almost a month now? I'm actually super pleased with how it turned out, considering I usually SUCK at slow burns. But welcome to like, 19,000+ words of it. 
> 
> ALSO ALSO MY BEAUTIFUL FRIEND
> 
> MADE ART FOR THIS. IT IS HERE. IN THIS FIC. AND ALSO ON TUMBLR. LINK AT THE BOTTOM. SUPPORT HER I LOVE HER AND HER ART. AND ITS REAL HOLO.

"Is this…entirely necessary?" Allura asked, eyebrows lifted as she watched Lance plaster the flyer in his hands on the lamp post. She took a long drag of her coffee, shivering in the frigid January air. "Hunk is only gone for the semester."

"And the summer!" Lance protested, ramming the tack into the wood with a little more force than was probably necessary. "He won't be back until August for school, and rent is fucking expensive by myself."

"I thought you were joking when you said you were making roommate flyers," was all she commented, taking another drink of her coffee and wrinkling her nose at the burning sensation. "Why am I even here?"

"Um, I bought you that coffee you seem to be worshipping."

"Fair point. I hope you know you're going to get mostly creeps and desperate people."

"I'm a desperate people, 'Llura."

She snorted, nearly biting her coffee lid. "True."

"There."

Lance stepped back, tucking the rest of his stack under his arm and shutting the box of tacks. He smiled proudly, eyeing the flyer.

**"Roommate Wanted for Spring and Summer Semester 2019. Must be 21-25, with reliable income, able to provide half of first month's rent. Student's of Altea U preferred. Cooking skills optoinal, good taste in music required. Male, female, or anyone else welcome to apply. Homophobes and terfs banned for life. *insert middle finger emoji here* Call Lance at 555-5425 for inquiries."**

"Was the end portion really necessary?" Allura asked.

Lance scowled. "Um, yes. I've had enough angry nasty people in my life. I need positivity. Plus, the campus wouldn't have let me put up an actual middle finger emoji."

"I am positive that you will have to move in with your parents."

"Way to be optimistic. I, for one, think I will get a fantastic roommate," Lance said. His eyes glinted with challenge and his lips quirked up, nose creasing at the bridge. "You're just jealous of my wonderful advertising."

"You misspelled optional."

"Fuck!"

~~

Keith wasn't doing this. He was not doing this. He was not stopping to stare at this flyer, at this stupid, dumb flyer asking for a roommate. He was not taking his phone out, he was not copying the guy's number down, not taking a picture of the flyer.

He was certainly not taking the flyer off the post for further inspection.

Nope.

He was not.

Okay.

Maybe he was, but it was only because Pidge was gone for the semester and Keith…Keith didn't really want to live on campus alone. Anyone who made a flyer like this one had to either be a frat boy or a theater kid, both of whom Keith figured would probably be out of the apartment 24/7, plus the rent for the apartment complex listed was actually cheaper than campus housing when split, so…

Yeah, okay, so he shoved the whole paper into his coat pocket and shuffle-ran the rest of the way to his dorm room.

He had stayed for the winter semester, mostly because his mother was travelling for work and he didn't particularly feel like spending half of his Christmas break alone at home. She had come up to visit him for New Years, and he had spent Christmas eve with Shiro and his girlfriend, so honestly, Keith wasn't upset.

Now, a week before classes started, he was beginning to realize how exhausting living alone was.

Keith had always considered himself a loner; hell, Pidge joked about it constantly. But the moment they had been paired together (in the lgbt dorm, the one where people didn't give a shit who roomed with who or who identified as what), Keith had realized how much it payed to have a roommate.

His dishes were piling up, his bed unmade, and he was pretty sure the coffee pod in the Keurig was from last week. Pidge wasn't his mother, sure, but she also hated that kind of clutter in her work space.

With a roommate, Keith might at least feel guilty enough to be spurred into cleaning up his messes.

He unwound the scarf from his neck and draped it over the leg of his bed, kicking the door shut behind him and shimmying out of his coat. The room wasn't much warmer than it was outside – fucking dorm life – but Keith didn't mind that. He was partial to the cold, having grown up in the desert his whole life. His first experience with snow had been delightful.

He kicked his shoes off, sinking into his desk chair and twirling it around to kick his stockinged feet up onto the radiator to mooch what little heat it gave off. He leaned over, pulling the flyer from his coat pocket, and leaned back again, skimming it.

His thumb hovered over his phone, and instead of calling the number, he pulled up his Facebook chat with Pidge.

She was abroad in Europe for the semester with a school group, ecstatic about spending a few weeks in Italy. Apparently she had an uncle and aunt there she hadn't seen for years, and she'd be taking a detour to visit them on a free day.

_**Chat: Mothman for President 2K20** _

_Mothmaniac: Hey_

_Mothmaniac: So like_

_Mothmaniac: I found this flyer…._

_Pidgeonator: omg r u going out for the musical_

_Pidgeonator: Keith ofc ull be beautiful everyone will love u_

_Mothmaniac: fuck off_

_Mothmaniac: no_

_Mothmaniac: its…an application? Kinda?_

_Mothmaniac: to be someone's roommate_

_Pidgeonator: Keith….r u….ABANDONING ME?_

_Mothmaniac: ur in fucking Greece rn!_

_Pidgeonator: betrayal_

_Mothmaniac: that's it im calling the number_

_Pidgeonator: insult_

_Pidgeonator: friendship revoked_

_Mothmaniac: suck zeus's dick_

_Pidgeonator: u know I'd much rather have Hephaestus if I swung that way_

_Mothmaniac: hephalafeetstus_

_Pidgeonator: fuck off_

_Mothmaniac: 3_

_Pidgeonator: no_

Keith chuckled and closed out of the chat, pulling up his phone and hovering his thumb over the buttons for a long minute.

5\. 5. 5. 5. 4. 2. 5.

It took him too long to hit the call button, and when he did, he almost chickened out and threw the phone into the radiator. He steeled himself and dragged the ringing device to his ear, silently praying that this Lance guy wouldn't pick up.

He did, of course. Classes hadn't started, what else would he be doing?

"Hello?"

His voice was pleasant, high pitched but chill, kind of like Keith might suspect a stoner would sound like. Not that he knew any stoners, but still. There was a lilt to it, a slight roll that suggested he spoke another language, or at least had some kind of accent.

"Uh…hellooo?"

Shit. Words, Keith.

"Um…hi…I'm…I saw your…flier? Thing? The…my name is Keith, I'm a student here, my uh…my roommate is gone for the semester, I thought…I'd give a call. See if the uh…the position had been filled."

Lance's laugh was light, easy, in a way that didn't make Keith feel like he was being made fun of but still made his cheeks flare in embarrassment nonetheless. "No, dude, it hasn't. No need to be formal man, I'm chill. Look, when can you meet? We can grab coffee or something, do an informal interview type thing? Just to get a feel for each other, see if we'd get along."

Based on his enthusiasm alone, Keith guessed Lance was an extrovert. Which, given his introverted nature, probably wasn't a good mash, but what was he expecting from a guy who literally hung up flyers for a roommate?

"Are you a theater major?" he asked before his brain could catch up with his mouth.

There was a long silence, which the longer it went on, the more Keith wanted to throw his whole body out the window and into the path of a bus, and then Lance was laughing again. "Oh my god, dude, no. Psych and Spanish double major and education minor."

"Thank god," Keith breathed.

Lance was still laughing as they set up their meeting, bidding him a pleasant farewell when they hung up. Keith put his forehead down on the desk and let out a long groan.

Phone calls were the worst.

~~

They met at a café on campus dubbed the "Café of Lions," a warm, cozy hangout exclusively for students and faculty – you had to have a campus key-card to get inside, so locals couldn't bother anyone studying for tests or doing homework. It was quieter during the winter, though Keith still spotted a student hunched over their laptop with several open books surrounding them in the corner.

The owner, a tall man from New Zealand named Coran, had owned the café for nearly a decade. He was an alumnus of the university, and his first priority was the student's comfort, which made him a fan favorite in a world that cared only about money. His prices were low, his coffee was good, and his personality was, almost literally, sparkling.

He welcomed Keith by name – a trait he was known for, knowing everyone by name within a week of meeting them – and started his usual order before Keith had even opened his mouth. "Americano, shot of espresso, pump of hazelnut," Coran rattled off, his eyes twinkling. "You're a bit predictable, my boy."

Keith grinned at that and opened up his wallet, sticking his card into the chip reader and waiting for the payment to process. "Nothing wrong with a good thing."

Coran tilted his head at him. "True. Usual for you today, son?" he asked over Keith's shoulder.

"Yeah, thanks Coran!" a guy piped from behind him, and Keith stiffened a bit. The voice sounded familiar.

He turned and leaned back against the counter, studying the guy in front of him, who was now staring down at his phone and typing furiously on his keyboard. Shit, he was pretty.

Tall, almost lanky, but with the slightest definition in muscle in his arms. He had already taken his jacket off, probably put it at a table before coming up to order, and his sweater hugged his body in every right way, gracing off his hips and over his jeans, the baby blue complimenting the dark tone of his skin. His hip was cocked as he typed, one foot flung over the other and tapping restlessly. His hair was a bit shaggy, like he hadn't gotten it cut in a while.

Keith related.

"Your coffee, Keith," Coran chimed, and the guy's head whipped up, a surprised look in his eyes – dark blue, maybe even brown, Keith couldn't tell at this distance.

"Keith?"

Keith managed a weak smile, looking back only long enough to take his coffee from Coran's outstretched hand. "That's me. You must be Lance, then."

Lance nodded, slipping his phone away. "Yeah, yeah. Hey, good to meet you, dude."

He stuck a hand out, formal, and Keith gnawed at his lip before taking it. "So much for casual," he tried to joke, and to his surprise, it seemed to put Lance at ease, a smile sliding over his face.

He moved around Keith to pay for his coffee, thanking Coran, and then led Keith back over to the table he had chosen. His jacket and a cross-body bag were tossed onto a seat, and Lance tucked his wallet into one of the pockets and took a long drag on something that smelled like caramel before speaking. "Okay so, first question: job."

Keith tilted his head, twisting the coffee cup in his hands. "Right. I actually work at the fitness center part time during the school year, and my brother pays me in freelance gigs at least twice a month for his company, so I'm good there. It'll be cheaper living off campus, too."

Lance nodded, glancing at Keith and then swiftly back to the table, like he was afraid to keep eye contact for too long. "Freelancing? What for?"

Keith hummed, taking a sip of coffee. "My minor is graphic design. Major is Physical Therapy and exercise science. My brother owns a gym for recently disabled people who are either working on physical therapy or trying to…adjust."

Lance's brows furrowed. "Is…is your brother named Shiro?"

Keith blinked. "Wh…yeah. You know him?"

The smile grew a bit, something fond. "I'm friends with Allura. His girlfriend, but obviously you'd know that. I knew he had a brother, but I don't actually hang out with Shiro very often. At all, actually. I think I've met him twice."

Keith snorted. "Funny. I know Allura, but I only really see her on holidays. That's cool, though."

"Small world," Lance noted.

They fell into a silence for a moment, the sound of the milk steamer filling in ambient noise, and Keith internally winced at the tangible awkwardness. So much for roommates.

"So," Lance continued before Keith could fall into an internal spiral, "I'm sure you read my whole flyer. I'm bisexual, so if that's a problem, you need to say it now."

Keith practically snorted. "No way. I'm gay, I live in the lgbt inclusive dorm. My roommate – the one who's abroad – is gay and ace. No problems there. Though I'm not much of a cook."

Lance tisked and shook his head. "Unfortunate. Music?"

Keith squinted, eyeing Lance up and down. "You seem like a Beyoncé person."

"Is that an insult?"

"No way."

"Panic! or Fall Out Boy?"

"Both."

"Perfect. They seemed your type," Lance said with a sly smile.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. What's with the mullet?"

That took Keith aback. "I'm sorry, what?"

Lance gestured at his hair like that solved the confusion. "The mullet. Why?"

"Wh…? It's my hair?"

"Works for me. C'mon, Mullet. Let me show you the place."

"Show – that's it?" Keith managed, scrambling to his feet as Lance stood and swung his coat on.

Lance looked up and shrugged. His eyes were glittering again. "Yeah. You seem like a good guy, chill, and I need a roommate. So do you, obviously. Also you're not a creep. Coming?"

"I…yeah. Yeah, okay."

~~

The first week was…weird.

That was an understatement, but Lance couldn't really think of any better way to phrase it.

The apartment was small, but for a first apartment, Lance was impressed with it. Two bedrooms, a bathroom, full kitchen, and a fairly large living space. Not to mention five bajillion cupboards and closets.

Hunk's room had been empty all winter, since the end of the fall semester, though he had left the bed frame, mattress, and dresser in case Lance did decide to get a roommate while he was gone.

"I won't be offended," he'd said as he was packing up his clothing. "You're a people person, I can't expect you to stay alone for so long, and I don't want you to. Just don't replace me."

"Never, dude," Lance had said.

Keith moving in though was…weird. Lance had lived with Hunk since they were freshmen, and they knew each other inside and out by now. Keith…Lance had very little idea about Keith.

From what he could tell, Keith was…quiet. He had a sense of humor, which was good – Lance couldn't live with someone with no humor – and his music taste was acceptable. He was…more than a little attractive, which had startled Lance when they first met. His shoulders were tough in a farmer kind of way, hands slightly calloused, and his calves…damn. His hair, when pulled back, was hot despite the mullet jokes he made, and the day he moved in he wore a tank top under his sweatshirt that he'd shucked when they both got sweaty from lugging books and clothes down the hall.

Yeah, Keith was…very hot. Lance would admit it, he was attracted to him.

But he couldn't quite get a grip on his personality, and it pushed him off from trying anything beyond being pleasant and polite.

The first week of classes they barely saw each other during the day. Lance didn't have his own car – he borrowed from his siblings and parents when he was home – so he walked or biked to campus. He knew Keith had a motorcycle, but he'd yet to see it. They were close enough to the school that it was only a five-minute walk anyway, so he assumed Keith was walking too.

But they didn't usually see each other until dinner, except for Thursdays, when Lance had a night class, and then it was typically them grabbing something from the fridge and sitting at the table or on the couch with headphones in and their eyes glued to YouTube or Netflix.

The second week…was a little bit better.

Keith was fully unpacked, they knew each other's schedules (well, had them written down on a massive whiteboard, which was pretty much the same thing), and Keith seemed to be easing up around him, going so far as to tease while they made dinner together.

"You wanted a good cook, I can see why now," he laughed as Lance dropped his fourth spaghetti noodle onto the floor while trying to taste test it.

Lance flipped him off good naturedly, causing another noodle to slip to the floor, and he swore. Keith snorted, twirling the kitchen knife he held between his fingers, and went back to cutting the loaf of Italian bread he had been making garlic toast from.

Lance forgot himself for a minute. "Holy shit, dude."

Keith looked up, eyes wide. "What?"

"The fucking knife! Where did you learn that?" he demanded.

Keith suddenly looked almost sheepish, his cheeks pinking. "What?" he tried.

"Don't fucking what me, you just twirled that like a pro! You've been holding out on me."

"You mean this?" Keith asked, lifting the knife and, with a deft flick of his wrist, sending it spinning around his wrist, over the back of his hand and palm, into the air, and sliding neatly into the curve of his opposite hand. There was a satisfied smile on his face when he caught it. "I uh…practiced a lot as a kid."

"Dude, that's sick," Lance choked out.

Keith shrugged, though a soft look had spread over his face. He went back to the bread, lips curled upwards. "Thanks," he said finally, sawing through the remainder of the loaf. "Got a lot of injuries learning it."

"You should teach me."

"No way in hell."

~~

Keith could hear where they were going before they had even rounded the street corner, loud bass reverberating through the sidewalk and up through his boots, making his feet tingle and his ears physically try to escape his head. "Why the FUCK is it so loud?"

Lance snorted, digging his hands further into his pockets and hunching his shoulders over his ears. "It's a party, dude. Don't tell me you've never been."

"I thought you meant like…a birthday party or something!"

"Keith. My dude. It is Friday night, I have a test on Tuesday, and I'm stressed as fuck. We're drinking tonight."

"We could have done that at hooomme," Keith whined, stubbornly digging his heels into the somewhat slippery pavement and eyeing the football house with anticipation.

Lance stopped, pivoting on his heel to face him. His breath fogged around his mouth, catching at the curve of his scarf and forming little beads of ice. "If you really want to go home, I can walk you there," he said, voice softer. "I just thought…I don't know."

He shrugged, laughing a little, and glanced away. His bangs drifted into his eyes and his shoulders hunched further around his cheeks, making him look almost like a sheepish child. It was endearing. "We've lived together for like a month and have never really…done anything together."

Keith tilted his head. "We hang out all the time."

"Well yeah, but at home!" Lance protested. "I…I don't know. I thought it would be fun. I forgot it wasn't really your thing."

Keith softened a little and gnawed his lip, looking towards the still pounding house. He could swear that the windows were vibrating. "I…okay. But mostly because I don't want you to get killed in there."

"Awww, Keith!" Lance cried in delight, bouncing over and hooking an arm through Keith's, nearly faceplanting as he slipped on the ice. "You DO care!"

"Don't tell anyone."

They laughed and approached the house together, both of them flashing IDs at the guy at the door and promptly getting slapped with green wristbands. "They're serious here, huh?" Keith murmured.

Lance tilted his head towards the kitchen. "Campus is strict about alcohol policy, so if you get caught throwing a party like this, the guys are less likely to get in trouble if they were checking IDs. Course…no one REALLY checks that hard." He was practically yelling into Keith's ear.

Keith rolled his eyes. "That's for sure." He grabbed a cider from the bucket on the table, watching as Lance cracked open a shitty beer. "So…now what?" he asked, shouting above the music.

Lance wiggled his eyebrows. "Now," he yelled back, tossing back a gulp of his Bud Light and then throwing Keith a grin, "we mingle!"

He shimmied his hips and shoulders and Keith couldn't help but laugh, lifting his cider up to cover his grin. Lance led the way into the crowd, stopping to talk to other students while Keith trailed behind, taking in the scene.

There was a lot of drinking, and the music was loud, obviously. He couldn't help but wonder if the football students had furniture, given that the main room seemed to be pretty devoid of anything other than a few floor lamps in the corners and a DJ set up by the window. He recognized someone from one of his design classes running the sound and blinked in surprise.

Keith was…not a party person. That wasn't to say he didn't enjoy getting drunk every now and again, but he also wasn't really a people person. It was suffocating, being around too many people at once. Lance was kind of his anchor in this situation, so when he turned and found him missing, anxiety curled low in his gut.

He looked to the students Lance had just been talking to, steeling himself and then stepping over, his grip on his drink tight enough that he was surprised he hadn't shattered the bottle. "Where did Lance go?" he hollered above the music. He was pretty sure it was Rhianna.

A tall blonde tossed her head towards the dining room, her somewhat impressive collection of face piercings glinting in the weird disco tech lighting they had going on in the room. Keith refrained from asking how she got through airport security and nodded his thanks, weaving through the crowd into the adjoining room.

His eyes caressed the room carefully, squinting in the dark lighting, searching for the tall brunette he'd come to pick out as his roommate. Granted, everyone on the damn football team was tall, and they must have invited the boys and girls basketball teams because holy SHIT everyone was so fucking TALL.

He grunted in irritation, the anxiety starting to swell a bit, and backed up against the wall, hoping to put some distance between himself and the writhing mass of students. Weren't parties like, exclusive things?

Keith's grip tightened even more on his drink as the very pungent smell of cigarette smoke wafted from somewhere – whether inside or out, he couldn't tell, given that people were constantly opening and closing the front door, and he pressed his fist to his mouth again, breathing becoming a little more ragged.

A football player (Keith only knew from the jacket) paused by him, lifting an eyebrow and a beer. "Yo dude! You good?" he shouted.

Keith pressed his lips into a thin line. "Is someone smoking?" he yelled back.

The guy grinned. "Yeah! Back porch if you want a light. No weed though, bro! Edibles upstairs if you want 'em, but smoking is a no go!"

Keith swallowed, feeling a little woozy. He'd never been a fan of cigarettes. "Okay."

The guy clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to make Keith stumble and he used that as an excuse to duck away and into the kitchen again, going in a circle. He searched the rest of the room, finding a staircase off in the corner. Upstairs was weed, maybe Lance…?

Keith took another swig of his cider and climbed the stairs on shaky limbs, pulling out his phone as he did so. No messages from Lance, so he shot out a quick "Where r u?" and pocketed it again.

The first room was a bedroom stuffed to the brim with jackets and some girls in the corner getting handsy with one another. They didn't seem to notice Keith, so he booked it, cheeks flaming.

The next room was a bathroom, nothing happening in there, and the room after was clearly where the weed was, if the chilled out people on the bed staring at the ceiling were any indication. The guy who was obviously in charge lifted a brow at Keith and tilted his head. "Ten bucks."

"I'm good. Just-just looking for my roommate," Keith managed, weakly. He looked around the room, not spotting Lance, and shivered, shutting the door again. The last room was occupied by yet another handsy group of people, this one with more than…four, it looked like, before Keith slammed the door shut, and he leaned against the wall in the bathroom for a heavy minute, pressing his hands to his eyes.

Lance still hadn't messaged back, and Keith was starting to panic.

He opened the door, slipping back down the stairs, and the cigarette smell was much stronger now. There were definitely people smoking inside.

The haze drifted over his vision and Keith's hands went clammy, his fingers freezing and his palms sweating. His bottle started to slide from his grip, so he dumped it in the sink and tossed the bottle into the trash, rubbing his hands up and down his pants. "Dammit, Lance," he whispered.

He couldn't.

A sweaty guy brushed past him, reeking of cologne, weed (so much for edibles only), and cigarettes, and Keith flinched hard into the counter top. The music pulsed through the house, beating drums into Keith's head, worming their way into his temples and settling there, a constant throbbing behind his eyes.

His chest tightened and he clapped both hands over his ears, struggling for breath.

The back door opened and a gust of cold wind swirled in, chilled the sweat on Keith's skin, and he gasped, darting for the open door and slipping out past the person coming in.

"Keith?"

He didn't even register his name until he was already in the grass at the edge of the porch steps, dead and still somewhat covered in ice and snow. He sank to a crouch, ducked his head, gripped his hair, and breathed.

"Keith!"

A hand settled on his upper back and Keith swung without thinking, realizing a second too late that his fist was landing on Lance's jaw. He drew short at the last second, but still made contact, hard enough for him to hear an audible crack.

Lance cursed and instantly grabbed for his chin, eyes squeezing shut. Keith veered back, stammering. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my GOD I'm so s-sorry, I'm sorry, shit, shit, Lance, I'm so fucking-"

Lance shook a hand at him, looking up with tears in his eyes that did nothing to mask what was clearly concern. "I'm fine," he wheezed. "Dude, are you okay?"

"What?" Keith managed.

The hand came at him slowly, moving as though Lance was afraid Keith would punch again. It settled on his chin, turning him gently, and Keith realized the freezing sensation on his face was tears drying on his skin. He winced, turning his head away and pulling it from Lance's grip. "I'm fine," he whispered.

Lance had finally let go of his jaw, and Keith could already see the red mark that he knew would bruise. He flinched as Lance stepped closer, hand coming up to Keith's elbow. "No you're not," Lance murmured, gripping him by the jacket and tugging gently. "C'mon."

They walked around the house, sliding a bit in the frozen grass, and started heading back down the sidewalk, silent. Lance didn't let go of Keith's elbow until they were around the corner, and even then, his hand hovered, like he wasn't sure.

Another minute, and then Keith swallowed. "I'm sorry," he whimpered.

He could feel Lance looking at him. "Dude, it's fine. I shouldn't have touched without warning, it was just instinct."

"No, I mean…I'm sorry I made you leave. We'd just gotten there, I-"

"Hey."

Lance stopped him, glanced up, and pulled him inside the Café of Lions, which was quiet for a Friday night. Coran glanced up at the jingle in the door, but when they didn't move beyond the front, he said nothing.

Lance reached a hand out, thought better, and tucked it into his jean's pocket. "You didn't make me do anything," he said, voice soft. "I'm sorry I left you alone. Did…you don't have to tell me, but did something…happen? Like did someone…?"

Keith shook his head quickly. "No, no, everyone was…everyone was chill. Nice. It's just…it's really not my thing."

"Parties? They weren't really Hu-"

"Crowds."

Lance searched him for a minute, softening. "Oh. Are you like…claustrophobic?"

Keith lifted a shoulder, his racing heart starting to calm. "Maybe? I…I'm fine with small spaces, that doesn't…that doesn't bother me. But being crammed in with that many people, that many…the smoke…"

Lance's frown deepened. "Smoke?"

"The guys smoking on the porch."

"Oh," Lance murmured. "I wish…shit, dude. I'm sorry. I thought you'd be okay for a minute on your own, I was talking to a classmate. I didn't even think…and then I couldn't find you and…shit, man."

Keith shook his head. "Not your fault. You didn't know. I could have left at any time."

"Yeah, but I made you feel like-"

"Like nothing," Keith interrupted, looking up and shooting him a small smile. "You came and found me when it mattered. And I…decked you for it. Shit."

His eyes shot to Lance's chin, which was starting to swell and turn blue, and Keith cursed under his breath. "Coran, do you have an ice pack?" he called, looking over to the man.

Coran tilted his head and vanished into the kitchen, returning in moments with a blue bag of gel wrapped in a towel. Keith took it with a thanks and then handed it over to Lance, pressing it to his jaw gently and flinching back, hands flexing as Lance winced. "I'm so sorry," he murmured, letting Lance take the ice pack. He looked up, suddenly realizing how close they were to each other, and took a step back. "I didn't mean to lash out, I just-"

"Mullet," Lance said, rolling his eyes. He tried for a smile, eye twitching as his lips pulled on the bruising skin. "I told you. It's okay. I swear. I shouldn't have snuck up on you."

Keith sank into a chair in the coffee shop, resting his elbows on his knees and digging his hands into his hair. In his peripheral, he saw Lance sit down in the chair next to him. "It's so stupid."

"What?"

"Panic attacks over something so…so dumb."

"It's not dumb."

"They're just people, Lance, I don't know why I can't-"

"Not everyone has the same reactions to the same things, Keith. Sometimes crowds like that don't bother me, and I love them. But other nights I would have been right there with you."

Keith hesitated, glancing up through his hair. "What?"

Lance's grin was crooked, if not a bit pained. "Yeah. Tight chest, feel like you can't breathe, trapped feeling? Anxiety, dude."

"You're such an extrovert, though."

"Ah ah. Ambivert."

"Ambivert?"

"Yup," Lance said, popping the 'p.' "Means sometimes I'm an extrovert, sometimes I'm an introvert. All depends on the day, how my depression is, my anxiety, hell, sometimes if the sun is out or not."

Keith hesitated, brain flickering through all the responses he could give to that. His brain settled, stupidly, for, "You have depression?"

Lance laughed a little, wincing again and hissing an, "ow," before continuing. "Yeah. Have for years. Same with the anxiety. I've learned to manage it, but sometimes it still kicks my ass. Is this really what you want to sit here talking about tonight, or do you want to get off your ass and do something else?"

Keith caught his lower lip between his teeth, lowering his hands finally and twisting his fingers in his lap. "I don't…I don't know if I could…people."

"Um, obviously, I'm not that much of a dick. No, dude, Spiderverse is out and I still haven't seen it which is like, a criminal offense. Plus then after that we can watch Aquaman because Jason is hot as shit."

Keith felt his lips twitching into a smile. "Isn't that a little blasphemous, Marvel AND DC in one night?"

"Come on, if Peter Parker was real, he'd be a DC kid all the way and you know it. His personality could not say otherwise."

"That's…a weirdly accurate point."

"Isn't it, though? Come on, theater's down the street. Coran! Can I return the ice pack tomorrow?"

Coran looked up from where he was wiping a glass, smiling. "Keep it, my boy!"

"You're the best, dude!"

"Have a good night, you two!"

There was something suggestive in his tone, something Keith couldn't quite place. But he paid it no mind, more focused on the way Lance was grinning and the overwhelming sensation of relief and ease that had settled in his chest.

The night was looking up.

~~

"Okay, obviously you're really tired, so I'm going to force you to hang up and go to sleep, you dumbass," Hunk said, his smile teasing as Lance yawned yet again, nose wrinkling.

"Shut up," Lance grumbled.

"Love you too, buddy. Take care of that bruise, okay?"

"Stop momming me."

"Only when you actually start taking care of yourself. I'd like you in one piece when you come back."

"Yeah well…blame Keith for this. Night, Hunk."

"Night," Hunk said, absentminded, and then he paused, looking up. "Wait, did you say-?"

The screen went off, the Skype connection disabled, and Hunk huffed, contemplating whether to call Lance back or text him. He decided against it, given that it was late there, nearing two am. Hunk couldn't believe he was still awake, but given the night he'd clearly had, he supposed it wasn't that much of a surprise.

"God, do you NEED to be loud at the crack ass of dawn?" Pidge whined, stumbling into their shared living space and rubbing her eyes.

The program they were in had a small selection of students, and Altea U had been chill enough to let whoever wanted to room together room together, so long as nothing…crazy went on. Pidge and Hunk had hit it off the moment they took their first class together, so it had been a no-brainer for them to room together.

They were in Paris, now, having just left Spain, only a few miles south of the Eiffel Tower. France wasn't Hunk's forte (heh) but he liked the city and language enough, so he'd been waking up early the last two days to explore before their assigned outings and classes. "Unlike some people, I actually enjoy the sun."

"Ick," Pidge grumbled, flopping onto the couch next to him and tilting her head back on the cushion. She was wearing one of her brother's old Altea Tech sweatshirts, the sleeves too long for her fingers, and she rubbed at her eye with the end of the sleeve. "Gross."

Hunk snorted and shut his laptop. Pidge eyed it sleepily, waving a finger in it's general direction. "Who were you talking to?"

"Ah, my roommate from back home, Lance."

Pidge squinted like she wasn't wearing her glasses. "…Sanchez?"

Hunk looked at her in surprise. "Wha- yeah! You know him?"

"We've had a couple Spanish classes together, and one or two psych courses. Plus he's in anime club," Pidge said with a nod.

"I didn't know you guys knew each other. Huh," Hunk said. He smiled. "Nah, was skyping him. He had a…long night, apparently. His roommate punched him."

Pidge blew a raspberry, tossing her head back again. "Amazing that no one has before already."

Hunk pushed her, grinning. "Come on, you love him."

"Who's he rooming with now?"

"Some guy named Keith. I only know one on campus, and I doubt-"

Pidge sat up so fast her glasses flew down her nose. "Kogane?" she demanded.

"Yeah," Hunk managed, looking at her in surprise.

Pidge dug her phone out, pulling up her contact for Keith. "This him?" she asked, turning the picture to face Hunk.

Hunk nodded. "Yup, that's him. But I don't know if that's who's actually living with-"

"Did Lance put up flyers for a roommate?"

"Oh my god."

"How do you know Keith?"

Hunk shook his head. "We had some art classes together back when I was still doing my core. He works at the gym, too, so I see him when I go to work out. We talk sometimes, he actually helped me start my core routine. Wait, how do you know him?"

"He was my roommate."

They stared at each other for a long time, and then looked back to Hunk's computer. "So…your roommate," Hunk processed slowly, "is now rooming with my roommate."

"And we're rooming with each other."

"Do you think they know?"

Pidge shook her head instantly. "No way. They're both idiots."

Hunk couldn't disagree, and he tilted his head. "Do we tell them?"

"You know…I don't really want to."

The smile on her face was wry, and Hunk appreciated the mischievousness. It was almost like living with a tinier, more gremlin-like Lance. "They're either going to fall in love-"

"-or kill each other," Pidge finished, nodding.

"God, I hope it's the first one."

"Gross."

Hunk elbowed her playfully and then stood, stretching his arms with a crack behind his back. "So. Crêpes?"

Pidge groaned and flopped down into Hunk's vacated spot dramatically. "That requires PANTS."

"I'll buy."

"Bring me my sweats."

~~

"All right, on the count of three then…one…two…"

The artist pressed down and Keith bit down a yelp, fingers twitching on the mat. "I hate when people do that," he whined back at the tattoo artist.

The guy grinned, shooting Lance a twinkling wink, and Lance, sitting in the chair at the head of Keith's bed, laughed. "Come on dude, you have to admit, it works better. You're not as clenched."

Keith rolled his eyes, nose wrinkling as the needles drifted over a particularly sensitive patch of skin. "Yeah right, like you'd know."

Lance's eyebrows lifted slowly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You don't have any tattoos."

Lance immediately stood up. "You've lived with me for almost three months and you HAVEN'T seen my tattoos?"

"Plural?" Keith managed. "How many?"

"Four."

"How the fuck have I never seen them?" Keith demanded, craning his neck up to look at Lance as he struggled out of his sweatshirt. The tattoo artist paused to wipe at some of the ink on his calf and then dove in again. Keith clenched his teeth – second tattoo, and he had to put it in a worse spot than the first.

"Well I mean…unless you creep on me while I change," Lance said, his voice muffled as he fully stripped in their private cubicle, "I guess you wouldn't have. But I could have sworn I mentioned them. Or that you at least figured it out when I recommended Rolo over here."

Rolo snorted. "You're way less squirmy than Lance is."

"Fuck off, dude. Here, look."

He twisted, showing off his back, and Keith's breath hitched.

On Lance's right shoulder was a lily, dark blue, with something written under it in Spanish in handwriting that wasn't Lance's. On the opposite shoulder was the outline of a dolphin, more Spanish scrawled over the curve of its back. And just under that was a swirling black hole, surrounded by constellations and galaxies. If Keith squinted enough, he could make out the massive scar it covered.

"What-?"

He cut himself off as Lance turned, eyes nervous, and swallowed the question. "You said there were four. Liar."

Lance fucking winked as he slid his shirt back on. "Ah, that one's in a special place, my friend."

"Its on his inner thigh, and it's an Eevee," Rolo deadpanned as he wiped Keith's calf again.

"ROLO! Client secrecy!"

"He's your roommate, dude."

"I'm never coming here again."

"Oh good, then I can use those photos for my portfolio. Thanks."

"Fuck."

Keith was struggling not to laugh as Lance sat back down, his arms crossed over his chest and his lips pouty. "Oh come on, that's kinda…cute?"

"Shut it, Mullet," he muttered. "Mr. Cool Tattoo guy."

Keith rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't exactly call my first tattoo edgy," he offered, nodding to his bicep. "My first is literally just a minimalistic lion."

"Edgy!" Lance said, throwing his hands up.

"Your space one is fucking cool," Keith found himself saying. He hesitated, gnawing on his lips, and managed a shrug, despite the fact that he was leaning on his elbows. "I'd love to be able to do something like that."

Lance shrugged, ducking his head. "Yeah, well…thanks."

Keith let out a soft breath and ducked his head, hunching his shoulders. For a while, they sat quietly, Lance typing on his phone, Rolo occasionally making small talk, and the longer they went, the more Keith's leg started to ache.

"All right, nearing the end, but I'm getting close to the bone, so this part will hurt more," Rolo warned as he swiped at Keith's leg again. "Need a breather, dude?"

"Get it over with," Keith muttered into the mat under him.

Lance's voice was gentle. "You good, dude?"

Keith bobbed his head. "Yeah," he said to the mattress. "I'll be fine. My legs are just…more sensitive than the rest of me. Car accident."

Before he could protest or explain, Lance's hand slipped into his, hanging loose over the edge of the table. Keith tightened his grip on reflex, heart stuttering in his chest. "What's it for? You never did say."

Keith licked his lips, keeping his gaze firmly on the mat. "Um…my dad was a firefighter so this is like…his station's symbol? Not like…the typical one, that they put on shirts and helmets and stuff, his station came up with their own symbol. Kinda. My mom designed it. It's…sssss…it's a symbol for like…change. Or hope. Resistance. It's got more than that but I can't…get it out right."

Lance's hand squeezed. "You're good, dude. It looks good. Told you, Rolo's the best. Even if he is a dick."

"Fuck you, Sanchez."

Lance's hand shook, and Keith knew he was laughing hard enough for his shoulders to bounce. His hand was warm, soft, his knuckles smooth under Keith's touch. Keith swallowed the burning down in his throat and relished in the contact for another moment, two, three-

"Done! Take a look, man!"

Lance helped Keith sit up gingerly, standing and twisting to look at the back of his calf in the mirror. "It kinda looks like a five," Lance noted, tilting his head.

Keith nodded. "That's what I said," he snorted. "Dad didn't care. He loved it."

He could feel Lance look at him and he ignored it, looking to Rolo. "Thanks. Where do we go to pay?"

Rolo dressed Keith's tattoo and then walked them through the payments (Lance had gotten a second set of holes in his ears from Rolo's sister when they had first gotten there), gave Keith a goody bag full of candy, care instructions, and coupons for lotion and pizza (he didn't explain that one), and then they left.

The parlor was only a few blocks from the campus, so they had walked, Keith not sure he'd be able to drive his motorcycle after having his leg tattooed. They were quiet for a few minutes, the sound of passing cars and overhead birds wafting through the area.

"I got burned as a kid," Lance said, and that was NOT what Keith had been expecting. "Well…teenager, I guess. Hot oil. It was an accident, Mom was cooking and was grabbing stuff from the fridge and my little niece was going for the pan." He shrugged, like it was nothing. "I pulled her away, but she'd gotten a grip on the pan, so it came with us. I took the brunt of it. Got the tattoo to cover the scarring. Guess it uh…guess it didn't totally work, huh?"

Keith swallowed everything he wanted to say to that – how he was proud Lance had done that, even if it hurt him, how he was a hero, all that garbage he'd heard a million times from people who knew about his dad, all the stuff he knew felt fake to the people who had done it – and instead ducked his head. "My dad died in an apartment fire. Building collapsed in on him. He had gone back in to save this old woman, couldn't walk…she made it out. He didn't."

Lance's hand slid through his again and Keith let it, squeezing gently, fingers locking together. "I'm sorry," Lance said, voice soft, and from anyone else Keith would be annoyed by the age-old sentiment. From Lance, it felt real.

"I'm glad your niece is okay," he found himself saying back.

He could hear the smile in Lance's voice. "Me too. She means the world to me. Plus it means my brother and sister-in-law are forever in my debt."

Keith snorted, feeling like a weight was being lifted from his shoulders. People usually pitied him once they knew. Pidge had been one of the only one's who didn't – it was why they got on so well. "Oh, I'm sure you milk it for all it's worth."

Lance went into a full rant about all the things he'd gotten away with since the oil incident, and Keith laughed.

He couldn't help but notice that Lance didn't let go of his hand.

~~

"That's it. I'm failing the French midterm. There is no other option," Allura groaned, flopping back onto the sectional sofa and letting her textbook flop onto the floor, nearly knocking into the table and spilling their coffees.

Keith rescued his mocha with both hands, balancing it over his astronomy folder. "Oh, come on. You have the accent DOWN."

Lance nodded sagely, twirling a pencil between his fingers and barely looking up from his Spanish history book – written in Spanish. "Yeah, seriously. If you can learn English, you can learn anything. Français…n'est pas difficile."

Allura flipped him off and Lance snorted. "French is TOO difficult," she muttered, sitting back up and letting her hair flop in front of her face. "And I'm gonna fail it."

"Isn't French like, your minor?" Keith asked.

"And she's the secretary of the club," Lance confirmed, turning a page and chewing on the nub of his eraser.

"You all look in need of a bakery pick-me-up," said Coran, leaning over Keith's chair and holding a platter of fresh cookies in front of them. "Straight from the oven."

Lance finally looked up from his book to take two, depositing one into Allura's outstretched hand before shoving his in his mouth. Keith took it a little more slowly, savoring the rich chocolatey flavor and taking sips of his mocha in between each bite to really balance it. Allura scowled at Coran, who, Keith had learned recently, was her godfather. "Coran, I'm going to fail my French midterm," she said, still holding the cookie in her hand.

Keith took another sip of his mocha, swishing it in his mouth absentmindedly as he waited for Coran to answer her. "Unfortunately if you do that, I will be forced to ban you from the café," Coran said seriously.

Lance snorted, back to staring at his page, and Keith reached out slowly with his hand, careful not to draw attention to himself. Lance's pencil tapped against his page as he thought over some question or problem, Keith wasn't sure.

He was aware that Allura and Coran were watching him, though they kept speaking like nothing had changed.

His fingers snatched.

Lance was faster, somehow.

The pencil whisked through his fingers so fast that he barely felt it, and then suddenly it was behind his ear, Lance's satisfied grin and lack of pencil in his hands the only hint it had happened. Keith blinked a few times, lifting his hand to pull the pencil down. "What the fuck?"

Coran tisked at the language, though his mustache twitched with laughter, and Allura basically giggled. Lance merely winked, plucking the pencil back from Keith's stunned fingers and scratching an answer into his worksheet.

Keith looked to Allura, hoping for an explanation, and she shrugged. "He's fast with his fingers."

Lance's eyebrows wiggled suggestively and Allura shoved him hard, knocking him into Keith's side and flipping him off as he started laughing. "Shut up, Sanchez, you know what the fuck I mean."

"Oh I sure do," Lance teased, his nose wrinkling as he smiled. The faint freckles on his cheeks crinkled together, his laugh lines prominent around his eyes, and it was only when he turned to Keith that Keith realized he'd been staring.

He jerked his gaze in a hurry, rolling his eyes like he was annoyed. He caught Allura watching him curiously but ignored her for the moment. "Classic," he muttered, turning back to his astronomy work and trying to make the words swim into focus.

"Je suis un pickpocket professionnel," Lance said very seriously, and though Keith didn't speak a word of French, it wasn't hard to translate the sentence, given that it was basically half English.

"Oh my god, no you are not," Allura groaned, slapping him with her French book. "And stop with the French, you took one class!"

"You're just jealous cause I have a better handle on it," Lance said in a sing-song voice, the lighthearted sound of it making it clear that he was kidding.

"Um, YEAH, 'cause you speak fluent SPANISH and the two are so similar!" Allura argued. "Your Spanish major is basically cheating!"

Coran, who was still standing there and listening to the conversation, handed Keith another cookie. "Good luck with this lot," he said before turning and heading back to the counter.

"God help me," Keith muttered, breaking the second cookie into thirds and throwing a piece each at Lance and Allura to get them both to shut up and stop speaking various languages Keith didn't know.

They settled down after that, delving into their own individual studies, occasionally overlapping in courses like psych and sociology, until 2 am rounded out and Lance was yawning too widely to speak anymore. The Café of Lions closed at 3 during midterms and finals anyway, so the trio gathered up their supplies. Lance and Keith walked Allura across campus to her apartment (despite her protests) and then turned back and headed towards their own apartment, silent save for the occasional quiet comment on the night sky or the crisp feeling of the early-March air.

The apartment was silent when they returned, both of them setting their things down at the entry. Keith locked the door behind him and turned to find Lance collapsed on the couch. "You're gonna fall asleep there," he managed to say, pressing the heel of his hand to his eye.

"Good," Lance mumbled into the throw pillow he was facedown in.

Keith snorted and shoved at him with a socked toe, nearly losing his balance. "C'mon loser, let's go to bed."

Lance hurumphed. "Nu," he grunted. "Confy."

"Oh my god."

Keith bent at the waist and, in one swift move, hauled Lance over his shoulder. Lance squawked, clinging to the back of his sweatshirt. He was suddenly very awake. "Oh my GOD, Keith, WARN a guy!"

He was laughing too hard to respond, ducking and weaving into Lance's room. His momentum was a little too fast, and he ended up twisting to avoid killing Lance, dropping onto his bed and then rolling onto the mattress to face him.

Lance smirked at him, a little cheeky, though the spark in his eyes was already starting to fade as the adrenaline wore away. "Do you even lift, bro?"

"Your scrawny ass?" Keith laughed. "That's nothing."

"Fuck off, dude."

Keith chuckled, starting to do just that, but Lance's bed was fucking comfortable. He couldn't quite bring himself to move more than a few inches. His head felt heavy. "I…am exhausted," he muttered. His eyes ached.

Lance bobbed his head, sleepy. "Yeah. Mm. Come cuddle."

Keith frowned. "What?"

Lance's eyes were closed now, head sunken into his pillow. He dramatically opened an arm. "Cuddles. C'mon. I haven't gotten em…since my roommate left."

Keith hesitated, but he was already exhausted, and Lance looked…very warm. He shuffled over to where Lance was still holding an arm out, though every second Keith wasn't there it drifted closer down to the bed. He sank into the warm hollow just next to Lance's body, rolling over so that they weren't facing each other. That would be weird.

Lance didn't protest that, merely wrapped his arm tight around Keith's waist and tugged him close, ankles twining around his and his cold nose pressing into his neck. He let out a sleepy sigh as his breaths started to even out. "Night."

"Night," Keith managed.

He was comfy as hell.

But he wasn't falling asleep any time soon.

~~

"Keith!"

Keith glanced up from his text messages with Shiro to find Allura running from the psych building, dancing around students and skipping a few steps as she slid to a halt next to him. Her cheeks were flushed in the early winter afternoon, and her coat hung open around her body. "You good there, Allura?"

She huffed, digging through her bag. "You're gonna see Lance later, right?"

Keith cocked a brow. "Yeah, why?"

She pulled out a clump of papers, shouldering her bag again and brushing her hair out of her face before handing them over. "These are from Psych today. Professor Ryner asked me to give them to him, they're the notes for next week's test."

Keith frowned, taking the pages slowly. "Lance…missed class today?"

Allura nodded, glancing at her watch. "Said he wasn't feeling good, something he ate. Shit, I'm sorry Keith. I'd take them to him myself, but I'm late for my health and wellness class, and Iverson will kill me if I walk in late again this week. Tell him I hope he feels better!"

She bolted, waving to him and bouncing around another group of students, and Keith lifted a hand halfheartedly before looking back down at the pages.

Lance hadn't said he was sick the night before, and they had both eaten the same thing for dinner. Unless he had a really shitty breakfast, Keith was pretty certain he wasn't sick of a foodborne illness.

Rolling his eyes, Keith shoved the pages into a folder and slung his bag over his chest. Lance had probably skipped class purely to have more time to study for said test. It wouldn't be the first time.

Keith was done with class for the rest of the day – Tuesday's were easy, two classes in the morning back to back and then nothing for the whole rest of the day and no early classes on Wednesday's. He had forgone his bike that morning, since the roads had been icy and the sidewalks well salted, so he ducked his head against the winter wind and forged his way to the apartment.

God, he couldn't WAIT for spring. As much as Keith loved the snow and the cold, he could do without the ice and the wind. Winter seemed to last through March in Altea and, given that they were just over halfway through the month, he knew he had a while to go before it would be significantly warm again.

The door stuck as always on the way into the entry, and Keith managed to slide into an elevator by himself, unzipping his coat and cracking his neck as the lift crawled up to the fourth floor of the apartment building.

When he walked inside, the lights were off. Keith dropped his bag on the floor and kicked the door shut behind him, shrugging from his jacket and slinging it over one of the hooks behind the door. Lance's keys weren't on the hook, so he assumed the student was out with a friend somewhere.

Keith toed his shoes off and locked the door behind him, grabbing a granola bar from the kitchen and then trudging down the tiny hallway to his room, intent on digging out his reading for his English class and finishing it before he forgot about it yet again.

As he passed Lance's door, however, the soft, unmistakable sounds of choked off crying reached his ears. Keith froze. He glanced towards Lance's door, then his own, set his granola bar inside his room and pocketed his phone. Keith laid a hand lightly on Lance's door, palm flat, and then slowly curled his fingers in towards his palm and tapped. "Lance?" he whispered.

The sobs choked out entirely for a beat, two, and then the door cracked open. Lance had his face turned down, hair drifting over his eyes, but Keith could see the way his hands shook, the red hue of his skin, the way his shoulders trembled with the strain of holding together. "You're…you're home early," Lance whispered, and his voice was a wreck.

Keith searched his figure, a heavy weight settling on his chest. "Allura gave me your study guide," he said back, stupidly.

Lance tilted his head down in a nod. "Okay. I'm kind of tired, I'll just look at it later."

Keith pressed his lips into a line and, without thinking it over any longer, swung his arms out. "C'mere," he murmured.

Lance's entire body quivered once and he collapsed, hard, against Keith's chest, his face pressed into the soft material of his sweatshirt and his hands clinging to his back like if he let go, he'd fall entirely. Keith wasn't convinced he wouldn't.

He dragged his own arms up, moving on pure instinct. His fingers twined into Lance's hair, his other hand circling over his back, and he set his chin on Lance's head. Keith had never been super touchy-feely growing up, but he knew Lance was, if the constant, tiny touches and random cuddle sessions were anything to go by. The least he could do was reciprocate that now.

"You wanna talk or you wanna distract?" he found himself asking. It was what he'd done with Pidge when she got too stressed on her projects – she either needed to talk her way through a problem (the rubber duck method, she'd called it, but Keith had no clue what that meant) – or she needed to fully stop thinking about it for a while. He wasn't sure if it would work for Lance, but it was all he had at the moment.

"Distract," he choked.

Keith nodded. "Okay. Okay, come here."

He guided Lance out to the living room and pushed him down onto the sofa gently, bolting back to his room and digging into his closet for extra blankets. He snuck his pillows off his bed, grabbed a plush lion from his tiny stash on his chair, and then ran back to the living room. Lance was bent over on his knees, fingers tight around each other and shaking, and Keith dumped the plush items on top of him with no hesitation.

Lance squawked pathetically, the sad sound turning into a halfhearted laugh as Keith went for the kitchen and started a pot of water for tea, throwing a bag of popcorn in the microwave. He went back out to the living room, where Lance was now curled into the sofa's edge with the lion in his grasp, and turned on the TV.

"Disney or DreamWorks?" he asked.

Lance's lips flickered. "Disney."

"Music or nah?"

"Music."

"Old or new?"

"….new?"

"Coco it is."

Lance gave a watery laugh and Keith clicked play on Netflix, darting back to the kitchen to get the popcorn before it fully burned and rescuing the water as it boiled. He gathered up the food and brought it back to the room, spreading them on the coffee table and then plopping next to Lance, rearranging the blankets with a fake grumbled irritation until he was situated. He leaned over, grabbed the remote and popcorn, and turned the volume up.

About a quarter of the way in, Lance was humming to the music under his breath, his fingers less tight around each other. The popcorn was gone at the halfway mark, and by the time the end credits were rolling, he was fully smiling, though the puffiness was still present in his cheeks.

"All right, new or old?" Keith asked as he navigated back to the main page.

Lance glanced at him, his fingers twisting in the blankets. "You…you don't have to."

Keith lowered the remote and lifted a brow. "What?"

"Pretend you want to be doing this. I know you have other stuff to do, you don't have to watch silly kids movies with me. Thanks…for the first one. But I don't want to force you to-"

"I'm going to stop you there," Keith interrupted, setting the remote down fully and twisting to face Lance head on. "First of all, you're not forcing me to do anything. Or did you forget I dumped you out here and put the movie on?"

Lance opened his mouth to protest and Keith held up a hand. "Second," he said, lowering his voice. "They're not silly kid's movies. They're fucking good. And I'm not pretending. I like doing this. I needed a break, too. Midterms gave us all a lot of stress last week and this is nice. And third, I…"

He hesitated, looking down and away. "I just want to make sure you're okay."

Lance let out a soft sigh, lashes fluttering shut. "I…"

The way his voice cracked shook Keith to his very core, and he shifted on the couch until he was closer, until Lance was fully lined up at his side. "You don't have to talk about it," he murmured, shutting his eyes as Lance leaned into him. "You can, if you need. But I…you skipped class, and lied to Allura, and that combined with how I found you when I came home scared me a little. I know…I know you said sometimes you have a hard time managing your depression, and if today is one of those days, then…then I want to help manage it. If I can."

Lance shuddered and twined his arms around Keith's torso, sinking down on the couch until he was practically laying in Keith's lap. "Okay," he whispered. "It's…it's nothing you can really help with. Just general…feeling like shit and stuff. Like…useless. Where you try to tell yourself you're not but your head just….argues." He gave a bitter laugh. "And it's really good at arguing."

Keith melted into the couch a little and wrapped his arm around Lance's shoulders, silently maneuvering through the Netflix menu. "You're not," he said, keeping his voice low. "Useless."

"Thanks, but-"

"You can't believe that right now. I know. That's okay. Just know that I don't think that. I…I care about you, Lance. I'm here, if you need. Just don't lie to me. Don't lie to Allura, either. She'd want to know when you're feeling down."

Lance nodded, nuzzling into Keith's shirt, and Keith hit play. "Now you have to deal with my movie."

"What's your movie?"

"Lilo and Stitch."

Lance stayed silent for a few beats and then he hummed. "That seems like your kind of Disney movie," he mumbled into Keith's stomach.

Keith wasn't quite sure what that meant, but he didn't argue. Just lifted a hand, threaded his fingers into Lance's hair, and started petting. Lance sank into his touch.

Eventually, they invited Allura and Shiro over to their impromptu movie night, and it turned into a Disney movie marathon and sleepover. Keith burned three bags of popcorn, they tipped the pizza guy an extra forty percent, and by the time they all fell asleep, Lance was smiling again, and the puffy circles under his eyes had all but vanished.

Keith knew this wouldn't be the last time this kind of thing happened, but for now, he was just glad he hadn't made anything worse. Seeing Lance depressed had twisted something nasty in his chest, had made him want to murder the whole world to make him happy again, and it was a feeling that Keith hadn't felt before, not like that.

He'd felt a similar way when Shiro had gotten in his car accident, but that was more of an anger, a vengeance towards the drunk driver who had almost taken his brother from him. This feeling was one of fear, protectiveness, the briefest, most terrifying thought of losing him to something even more preventable than a drunk driver.

Keith knew what it was, deep down. He knew the feeling, knew what it looked like, felt like, sounded like. He knew that Shiro recognized it that night, that he wouldn't say anything until Keith did first, and that Allura would do the same.

Not that night, though. He wouldn't take advantage of Lance's vulnerability like that. He could never.

~~

"All I'm saying," Shiro said, waving his hand in the air, "is that a Spanish major when you speak fluent Spanish is…basically cheating."

Allura slapped him in the chest. "That's what I SAID," she whooped, pointing in triumph at Lance.

Lance snorted, taking a swig of his third…fifth? hard cider and flipping her off. "Listen," he managed, his voice a little looser than usual. "I'm…fucking great at Spanish. I wanna…." He frowned, staring down at the floor like he couldn't quite remember what he wanted to do. "Kids gotta learn Spanish," he settled instead. "Keith! Do you know Spanish?"

Keith frowned at the ceiling, rum and coke swirling in his hand. "My coworker at Target was Mexican. HE knew Spanish."

Shiro let out a snort before he could stop it. "Target," he chuckled. "You…you hated that place."

Keith threw his free hand up and sat up on the sofa. The room swirled a little, which he was pretty sure wasn't supposed to happen. He glanced down at the rum and coke. Oh yeah. "Fucking…stupid fucking Target. Stupid fucking customers. Stupid fucking…fucking RETAIL."

"Oh my god," Allura groaned. Her hair was pulled back into a bun, and Keith silently marveled at the fact that she had fit it all into such a tiny space. "I worked at…Wendy's. Holy shit. It was so bad."

Lance, now laying on the floor, lifted his drink into the air. "A fucking MEN," he declared. He tried to take a drink, squinted at the bottle, and then propped himself up on his elbows to take a swig before collapsing back onto the carpet.

Keith stared at his drink, watching the ice melt for a minute. "Fucking…retail is…so ssstupid," he slurred. He knew he was slurring. That was normal. They were drinking to drink. Obviously. "It…not enough money. Shiro pays me good money."

"You're my fucking brother," Shiro protested, pointing a beer at him. "You deserve it."

Keith squinted. "So do…so do they," he decided.

Fucking McDonalds. The stupid restaurant was behind their building. Keith saw people mad at the employees all the time. They were nasty. Always about their stupid coffee, too. Too hot, too cold, not enough sugar.

"Put your own sugar in," Keith grumbled.

Allura blinked lazily. "What sugar?"

"McDonald's sugar."

"Ooookaaay," she said, before bursting into a fit of giggles and leaning onto Shiro's shoulder.

Keith stood, too fast. The world spun again and he stumbled. Cold Coke sloshed over his fingers and he stared down at it for a moment before lifting the glass and chugging the rest. "I'm gonna fix it," he decided, setting the glass on the coffee table.

"Fix what?" Shiro asked.

"McDonald's."

Keith tottered over to the door and frowned down at the pile of shoes resting on the floor. He wasn't sure at the moment which ones were his, but it didn't really matter. He just needed two of them. He grabbed a black one and started to put it on.

"Hey!" Allura snapped. She was standing, swaying in place, and then she moved over to Keith dizzyingly fast. "Those are…those are MINE."

His foot was stuck in the toes of her shoe. He'd put it on the wrong foot. "Oh," Keith said dumbly, fumbling and falling against the wall as Allura tugged the heel off his foot.

"What are you DOING?" Shiro asked, his gaze a little hazy as he watched his girlfriend pry her shoes off his little brother.

"I'm gonna…gonna fight the manager," Keith said, turning back to the shoe pile again and trying to work out which were his. "Fight the McDonald's manager. They deserve…they DESERVE money. More money. Pay raise. For their stupid broken ice cream machine. Stupid…stupid fuckinnnnnn managers."

Shiro was strong. His hands were on Keith's shoulders, and Keith gave up on shoes, going for the door instead. "Keith we can't…fight the managers."

"Sure I can," Keith protested. Did Shiro think he was weak? "I work out."

"Yeah he does," Lance muttered from the floor, staring at the ceiling. "Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays."

Keith pointed back at Lance. "See. I wanna…I wanna get a cheeseburger. And fight the manager. Not the 'ployees though. They deserve…they NEED a raise."

"I know, Keith," Shiro said. He was so patient.

Allura was frowning now, still standing next to Keith. "They don't pay them…money. Enough," she reasoned slowly, and Keith smirked triumphantly at Shiro. Allura snatched her shoes off the floor. "Lesgo."

Keith grinned. "Yeah!"

Shiro looked exasperated. "Allura, no."

"I'm gonna kill the manager."

"Allura, it's not the manager's fault."

That gave Keith pause, and he frowned at his sibling. "Whose fault izit then?"

Shiro pinched his nose. "Corporate."

Allura and Keith looked at each other, then back to Shiro. "Gonna kill corporate," Allura decided. "Corporate….McDonalds."

"Guys, McDonald's is CLOSED," Shiro whined. He stumbled a little as he went to block the door handle.

Keith squinted. It WAS closed. It closed at midnight. McMidnight. Heh. Taco Bell didn't though. It was open until four. Taco Bell. Taco Hell. Taco's were good. "We can fight Taco Bell," Keith said.

Allura nodded and started to push against Shiro. "Let us…let us fight the Taco Bell people. The students…deserve a RAISE."

On the floor, Lance was crying. Keith turned to look at him, worried. Was Lance upset? Did he not want them to fight?

"God my friends…are so good," he whined, pressing his hands to his eyes. "So good. They do such good things and you guys are SO good, you wanna help the workers and be nice to the people and…and they are so good. You guys are so GOOD, I love my friends. I love you guys. So good."

Keith pointed at Lance, scowling at Shiro. "See? Lance says it's good. We wanna help…need a raise. They need a raise. They're good."

Shiro had his hands on Allura's shoulders and his back against the door. He sighed. "I know, guys. I know. They're super good. But if you try to fight the managers you'll get kicked out, okay?"

"We're not fighting the managers," Allura protested. "Corporate."

"Corporate is in Chicago."

That gave Keith pause. "Oh. That's far."

Shiro nodded. "Yes. We can write them a letter in the morning."

Lance started cracking up on the floor, and the trio turned to look at him. "Heh. Letters. Old. Those are old. You're old, Shiro."

"I'm only two years older than you!"

"Grandpa."

Keith burst into a fit of giggles. Maybe McDonald's corporate could wait. He was too drunk to drive to Chicago, anyway. Keith was a safe driver. Not a drunk one.

Whoa. Too close. Too close. He glanced at Shiro, head aching as he watched him lead Allura back to the couch, his prosthetic hand light on her back. Too close.

Keith stumbled over to Lance and laid down on the floor next to him, nudging his shoulder. "Whas'on the ceiling?" he asked, trying to find whatever it was Lance was looking at.

Lance squinted. "Swirls," he declared after a long minute.

Keith snorted. Allura and Shiro were cuddling on the couch. That looked nice. Lance was warm. Lance's hand was warm when Keith took it. Lance rolled his head over to look at him. He looked confused. "Whyr'u holding my hand?" he asked.

"I wanna."

"Mm'k."

Lance was warm. The carpet was soft. Keith was tired. McDonald's was closed. Fuck, he wanted a cheeseburger. He could get one in the morning. Could he? Did they have cheeseburgers in the morning?

"Lance."

"Hmm?"

"Do…McDonalds…cheeseburgers…are they in the morning?"

"No. Mmmm eleven. Twelve? Not morning."

Dammit. Too far away. Oh well. He'd have a cheeseburger in the afternoon, then. Keith could wait, he supposed. "'m sleepy," he declared.

Lance didn't answer; he was already asleep. His hand was loose in Keith's.

Keith lifted his head and squinted at Shiro in the dim lighting. "Can I…pillow?"

Shiro grumbled and leaned out from Allura's deadweight, tossing a throw pillow at Keith and then following it with a throw blanket. Just cause the word 'throw' was in the title didn't mean he had to throw them. At least, Keith didn't think it did.

He tucked himself in, throwing the edge of the blanket over Lance, and rolled into his side. The carpet was warm under him. He was…very heavy. Super heavy. Supersized.

Bad movie.

Keith dreamed about cheeseburgers.

~~

Lance was walking home after his study group when the motorcycle pulled up next to him, Keith driving it. "You going back to the apartment?" Keith asked.

Lance tilted his head. "Yeah. Just got done studying. You asking if I want a ride?"

Keith shook his head and shrugged his bag off. "Can you take this back with you? I…I need to get out. Off campus."

Lance glanced up, studying his roommate a little closer. His eyes were hard, under eyes dark. His jaw was tight, and his leg was jittering so hard Lance would have thought he'd had three cups of coffee if he didn't know otherwise. "Okay," he said slowly. "I can do that. Unless you'd rather have some company? If not, I get it."

The look on Keith's face was that of surprise. "Really?" he managed.

"Yeah," Lance said with a shrug. He glanced up at the darkening sky. "It's warm, and it could be a nice relaxer. It's been a stressful week. If you're okay with it."

Keith nodded and scooted forward a little, taking his bag and putting it back on. "No helmets?" Lance asked as he swung his leg over the back. He'd only ridden with Keith twice, and it still made him nervous.

"I can go home and grab them, if you want."

His voice was strained, like even that much interaction with civilization was going to hurt him. Lance shook his head. "That's okay. Just be careful driving, mm?"

"Duh. Hold on."

Lance settled his hands on Keith's hips, light, resting his fingers in the curve of his thighs. The engine purred under him and Keith eased into traffic.

Once they were out of the Altean suburb, he sped up, and Lance leaned in closer, dragging his arms around Keith's middle just a bit more. To hold on, of course.

Keith took him through back roads he'd never seen before until they were deep in the woods, trees climbing above them and the roads narrowing until they were barely two lanes. The night grew darker, though the late April air was warm enough that it didn't bother Lance at all.

His hair was ruffled when Keith pulled off onto a side road, dirt, and eased the bike to a halt near what Lance could only describe as a hitching post for horses. They slipped off the bike, Lance's knees wobbling a little at the unfamiliar sensation, and he looked around. "So…where are we?"

Keith glanced up from where he'd been re-lacing his boot, a look of…something…flickering over his face before his expression slid into a calm neutral. "One of the hiking parks around campus. I…come here a lot when I need to think. Have since I was a freshmen. It's quiet. And this trail isn't used much anymore."

Lance followed him into the brush, grateful he'd decided to wear normal sneakers that morning instead of sandals like he'd been thinking. The ground was a bit muddy, and the path was overgrown. "Why's that?"

Keith shrugged, holding back a branch for Lance. "Don't know," he admitted, turning so that they were walking side by side. "The path gets pretty muddy in the spring, so no one really uses it then, and so many people bike and horse ride down here that they can't physically get through here. I'm sure people still come here, I've just never seen anyone."

Lance ducked under a pine branch and had to immediately swing right to avoid a rose bush, minus the roses and plus the thorns. "So then why do you like it? If it's always muddy, I mean."

Keith stopped, waiting for Lance to catch up. "The view is worth the mud."

He shoved through the next set of shrubs, still following a barely there dirt path, and Lance had little choice but to dive in after him, literally following in his footsteps.

It took almost ten minutes before Lance heard the sound of rushing water, and he perked up. "Is there a river? I didn't know it cut through this way," he said breathlessly, struggling to stay alongside Keith. Lance wasn't out of shape by any means, but it was clear that Keith had walked this path a million times.

The look Keith shot him was gentle, the smile close to smug but not quite. "Kind of," he said with a chuckle. "C'mon."

He pushed aside another pine branch and the trees started to thin out. Lance glanced up from where he'd been struggling not to catch his foot on a root and his breath caught. "Is that-?"

Keith's grin was answer enough and Lance pushed past him, careful to hop around and over thorn bushes and rocks in the ever thinning forest.

"It's a cliff!" shouted Keith from behind him, and that forced Lance to slow just a little and glance down at the ground. When it ended, burst out into open air, Lance looked up. Keith joined him, their hands brushing as he stopped next to him, and Lance blamed the shiver that blew through him on the view.

The river that ran through Altea plunged into at least a fifteen foot waterfall, small by waterfall standards but massive for suburb standards. It cascaded into a glittering pool that Lance couldn't see the bottom of before trickling back into a river and twining its way into the woods. The edges of the pool were surrounded by rocks, and a tree branch stretched over the center, a rope swing attached to the wood.

"It's a swimming hole," Lance said in disbelief. "Like…we had these back home when I was growing up, but I never thought to look for them here."

Keith shrugged as if he was indifferent, but Lance knew better. The way his cheeks pinked, the way his eyes glittered, how his lips twitched like he was on the verge of a smile. His feet shifted slightly and he nodded off to the side, where Lance could see a path. "You want to go down there?"

"Um, hell yeah!"

Keith took the lead, following the dip down to the pool and glancing back every now and again to make sure Lance was keeping up.

He was. Now that Lance could see the light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak, he was ecstatic. He barely paid attention to the rocks under his feet, too focused on not falling into Keith and getting down to the pool as fast as possible.

The rocks curled under his feet as he hopped down the final few feet, and Lance glanced about to find Keith venturing over towards an alcove set into the cliff face – though cliff was a strong word, seeing as how it wasn't even twenty feet high. It counted. Lance followed him in in time to watch Keith slide aside a larger rock and reach his hand into a hole that it had been hiding. It came back out with a metal box, and Keith opened it up to reveal water bottles, juice boxes, a flashlight, first aid kit, and a box of granola bars.

"Dude," Lance managed as Keith pulled out the flashlight and clicked it on, illuminating the darkening area. "What the fuck?"

Keith chuckled. "I told you, I come here a lot."

Lance just shook his head and climbed in to sit next to him, watching as Keith waved the flashlight over the rocks, the light bouncing across the rough stone surfaces. For a few minutes, they sat in silence, birds drifting out and being replaced with crickets and cicadas.

"You okay?" Lance asked finally. "If…I mean, if you want to talk. You don't have to."

Keith hummed next to him and sat the flashlight down, leaning back against the wall of rock. "Yeah," he said after a moment of thought. Lance glanced sideways at him, finding him fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "Just…been a rough day."

Lance hesitated. He wasn't sure why, but the way Keith said it, the way he looked now, so much sadder than he had just a few minutes ago, struck him as not right. "Is that all?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

Keith's phone, resting on his knee, buzzed, Shiro's name popping up in a text. Keith clicked it off and flipped the phone over. "No," he said, not elaborating.

Lance didn't push, knowing that whatever it was wouldn't be easy to talk about if Keith was full on running into the woods to get away from it. The stars were starting to peak out, much more visible here than they were at school. "You ever swim there?" Lance asked, nodding to the pool.

Keith's nose wrinkled. "No. I have no idea what's in it."

Lance scoffed and stood up, backing into the beam of the flashlight and shooting Keith a set of finger guns. "That's the point, Mullet. Come on."

Keith laughed a little, that uneasy look still in his eyes. "No way."

Lance tisked and stripped his baseball tee off, twisting away from Keith to look at the water. He could feel Keith watching, reveled in it. "Baby."

"What, because I don't want to get a potential infection from stabbing myself on like, heroin needles?"

Lance shot what he hoped was a sly look over his shoulder as he kicked off his sneakers. "I thought you said this place was hidden? No one ever came here?"

Keith was pointedly averting his gaze, his cheeks red. It made Lance's stomach roll. "You're using my own words against me."

"Yup," Lance declared, popping the p.

He shimmied from his pants, laying them next to his shirt and shoes. Goosebumps rose on his arms. While it was late April, and warmer than usual, the night air still had a chill. "Come with me or I go skinny dipping," he taunted.

The tiny squawk that came from the alcove made Lance have to press back a laugh, and he hooked his thumbs into his boxers.

"Oh my god OKAY! Leave your shorts on, I don't need to see that tonight."

Lance wiggled his eyebrows as Keith walked up next to him, flashlight in hand. "When DO you need to see it?" he teased.

Keith's face was practically a strawberry. "I hate you," he grumbled, handing over the flashlight and pulling his shirt off.

And…shit. Lance forgot sometimes how fit Keith was. His arms put Lance's to shame, his abs, though soft after a day of eating and breathing and just generally living, were still defined, enough that went Keith bent to untie his boots, Lance's mouth went dry and he was forced to look away.

It was no secret to Lance that Keith was attractive. He had admitted it to himself the moment they met. His personality in the beginning had been the problem but now…now that Lance knew him? Knew some of his fears, his life, his story?

God, he was hot.

"All right, lets get this over with," Keith said, grabbing the flashlight back.

"Is that waterproof?" Lance asked.

Keith looked him dead in the eyes and flung it into the pool, keeping it well away from the waterfall currents. The beam bobbed pleasantly in the resulting ripples. "No."

Lance snickered, noting the satisfied smirk that flickered over Keith's face, and then grabbed his hand and yanked.

Keith yelped as they stumbled into the water, which was SIGNIFICANTLY colder than the air, and Lance squealed, diving fully under in order to get used to it faster. He stroked out to the flashlight, grabbing it and settling his feet in the stones under his toes. The water came to chest level and he waved at Keith, still standing in knee deep water and hugging himself. "Come on loser!"

"I'm NOT getting hypothermia tonight!"

Lance shot him a devilish smile, tossed him the flashlight, and ducked underwater.

Back home, Lance had been on his swim team in high-school. He hadn't joined in college only because he knew he wouldn't have the mental energy with everything else, but he still went to the gym's pool when it was open to the public for workouts.

He could hold his breath for over a minute, and he used that to his advantage now, ducking out of the way of Keith's searching flashlight beam while using it to also get closer to Keith, who was wading further in to the water with every passing second.

He flutter kicked around Keith's body and popped up behind him, tackling him in a bear hug. Lance fully expected Keith to flip him over his shoulder, but instead Keith just gasped and clung to his hands like a lifeline, head ducking.

Lance frowned, loosening his hold. "Keith? You good?"

Keith twisted in his grip, pressing his forehead to Lance's collarbone. "Don't do that," he whispered, and shit, his voice was hoarse. Fuck.

Lance gripped Keith's arms, pushing him back gently and studying his prone form. "Hey. Hey, look at me, man. What happened? I was barely gone a minute."

"It felt like ten," Keith whispered, still not looking at him. "Don't…don't do that to me. I didn't…"

Lance felt like he was missing a piece of a puzzle somewhere, hidden under the leg of his chair only to be found hours later when his mother had made him clean up the dining room. Something more than Lance vanishing was bothering Keith, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out. "Keith?"

Keith shuddered and leaned back into him, water slapping against their chests lazily. The flashlight burned between them. "Today is…my dad died today. Ten years ago. I…"

"Shit," Lance muttered.

He twined his arms around Keith, tight, and slid his fingers into the slightly damp hair at his neck. "I'm sorry," he whispered, because he got it now. The panic, the fear, the not knowing. Lance had vanished, and Keith had no idea that Lance could hold his breath for so long. "I'm sorry."

Keith shook his head, nose pressed to Lance's neck, and his hands lifted to settle on Lance's back. "It's okay," he choked.

Lance pulled back, resting his forehead on Keith's and keeping him close. "It's not," he said, trying to ignore how close they were. "It's not, I shouldn't have…I'm sorry."

Keith swallowed audibly, eyes flickering down between them. "No, I…I should have told you. Why I was so stressed today. I-"

"Hey."

Lance moved on instinct, sliding a strand of Keith's hair behind his ear. Keith was burning against him. "It's okay. I swear, Keith. You don't HAVE to tell me anything. That's not how friendships work."

The word felt wrong in his throat, and if the stutter in Keith's breathing was any indication, it felt wrong to the ear, too. Lance wanted nothing more in that moment than to lean in, press kisses to his forehead, his cheeks, his lips.

But Keith didn't need that right now. To be taken advantage of in the moment. He needed a friend, not moves. He needed comfort, and that was something Lance was very good at giving. Or at least he thought so. "Is there anything I can do?"

Keith shivered, moving his head finally, warm breath leaving the space around Lance's lips, and glanced back at the pool they were in. "Honestly, I…I kind of regret not swimming here. Now. It's nice. Freezing, but…"

He looked back at Lance, and his smile dipped into something soft. "Nice."

Lance let himself grin. "I told you so. C'mon. Race you to the waterfall."

They left the flashlight floating in the bobbing ripples, racing each other around the pond, under the crashing waves of the falls, back up to the shore. Keith retrieved it while Lance was drying off with a gym shirt he'd had in his bag, which he tossed over to Keith.

"My bag," Keith said as he wrung water from his hair. "Front pocket. There's matches."

"Of course there are," Lance laughed. His boxers were soaked, so he couldn't put back on his jeans, and he was clad in only his shirt for the moment. The rocks tilted under his feet as he moved up the little beach, digging into the pouch for the matches.

It took them a few minutes to gather branches and wood, but eventually Keith got a decent sized fire going, and Lance took his now slightly damp shirt and spread it to sit on. Keith grabbed his own workout clothes from his bag and joined him, leaning against his shoulder as they dried out.

"Did you answer Shiro?" Lance asked after a while as he tested his boxers for their dampness level.

Keith glanced down at his phone. "Not yet. He asked where I was, if I wanted company."

"If you'd rather-"

"No," Keith said, quick. He flushed a little and looked away, unlocking his phone and pulling up his chat with Shiro, tapping a response slowly. "I…this is nice. I really needed this. Someone. I'm glad you came with me. I wasn't sure I wanted you to."

Lance chuckled, leaning into Keith's box and grabbing a granola bar, handing one over to Keith before opening his own. "So glad you enjoy my company that much."

Keith paused in unwrapping his bar, looking up and making eye contact with Lance. "I do."

Oh.

God, that was too soft. Lance almost choked on his granola. Keith just smiled a little, like he knew something Lance didn't, and handed over a water bottle.

They waited for the fire to die to embers before pulling their pants back on over mostly dried shorts, dumping pond water over the remaining hints of fire and cleaning up their mess by the glow of the flashlight. Keith tucked it into the box last and Lance used his phone as a flashlight while Keith pushed the box back into it's hole and rolled the stone in front of it.

The trek back to Keith's bike felt shorter, and they were quiet along the way, their phone flashlights bobbing between the trees and around the ground to keep them from tripping.

Just as they reached Keith's bike, Keith pulled up short and turned back to Lance, his expression unreadable in the dark. He shut off his phone light and put it in his pocket and Lance did the same, the half moon their only source of light.

"Thank you," Keith said, soft.

Heat pressed against his cheek and by the time Lance realized that Keith had just kissed him, he was already starting up the bike, head ducked and eyes averted. Lance slid onto the back without a word, refusing to make Keith feel any more vulnerable than he knew he already did.

Instead, Lance curled his arms around Keith's stomach tightly and leaned against him, pressing his cheek to his upper back. He felt Keith stiffen just a little before relaxing back into Lance's grip and turning on the lights of the bike. "You're welcome," Lance whispered back.

Keith kicked the stand up, straightened the bike, and they took off into the woods, heading for campus.

~~

"Prom?" Lance laughed, holding up the flyer he'd found on their coffee table when he'd walked inside.

Keith looked up from his paper and flushed, jumping to his feet and ripping it from Lance's hands. "Shut up," he muttered, crinkling the paper into a ball. He made for the trash, but Lance's hand caught his wrist and tugged him back. Keith let him, fingers falling open as Lance took the paper from his fist.

"No, seriously, what is it?" Lance asked, unwrinkling the page and studying it.

Keith shifted on his feet, running his fingers over the hem of his shirt. "It's…the GSA is putting it on. Kind of like…a do-over prom, for students who weren't out or weren't allowed to bring a same sex date to high school prom. I'm…helping with it. I guess."

Lance lifted an eyebrow. "You guess?"

"Just setting up and stuff. I wasn't gonna go."

"Um, why the hell not?" Lance demanded. When Keith didn't answer, he frowned. "Come on, you're part of the club, it's the end of the semester, why not?"

Keith managed a shrug. "I just…didn't like my prom much. So…"

"Isn't that kind of the point of the whole thing in the first place?" Lance asked.

"Well…"

"What if I go with you?"

Keith whipped his head up, eyes wide. "What?"

Lance smiled, glancing back at the paper. "Yeah! We can get dressed up all fancy and go! It'll be fun!"

Keith stared at him for a long moment, a slow smile spreading on his face. "You'd do that?" he asked, voice soft.

Lance's returning smile was gentle, his eyes sparkling. "I'd probably have gone anyway. This way at least I'll have some company. Yeah?"

He held up a fist and Keith huffed a laugh, bumping his own fist against it. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

~~

Gay Prom, as the campus had started calling it, fell on the Saturday two weeks before finals. It was just close enough to relieve stress and just far enough that students wouldn't be holed up in their rooms studying all weekend.

Keith and the rest of the club had been setting up the student center since classes ended the day before, filling the entry hall with every pride flag they had available. The room was striped in rainbow streamers, glitter covered every surface but the snack table, and there were buckets of condoms, pride pins, and lube all around the room.

The DJ had arrived around four to set up equipment, and he was testing out the system as Keith hung the final clear, glitter filled balloon. He thumbed the tack into place and grinned, looking down at the group and giving a thumbs up. "We're good to go!"

The club members whooped and Keith's chest ached as he climbed down the ladder. He wished Pidge were here; this was something she'd love, despite the crowds.

He left the president, Nadia, to clearing out the ladder and moved over to the counter, where Coran was busy setting up a plethora of drinks, snacks, and cakes. He was wearing a plain black t-shirt with a rainbow mustache printed on it, a gay pride flag tied around his neck. "Your husband couldn't make it?" Keith asked, leaning over the counter and unwrapping a set of Solo cups.

Coran rolled his eyes. "Well SOMEONE had to watch the kids. Didn't really want to bring them along to a college party."

Keith laughed. "Fair," he said, shaking his head.

A hand settled on his back and he looked up to find Shiro and Allura there, both of them wearing bi-pride themed outfits. Allura had on a pink tank top and a purple skirt, blue knee socks and flats covered in blue glitter. Her eye makeup was patterned to look like the bi flag. The bi flag was painted on both her (impressive) biceps, and she was wearing a bi and pan bracelet on her left wrist.

Shiro was a little subtler, wearing all black. His wrist bands were a combination of the gay and bi flags, and he'd dyed his white tuft of hair blue, pink, and purple. He had glitter dusting his whole body, and Keith wondered if it would be food contact safe before remembering that the whole room of people would probably be ingesting glitter at some point that night.

"You guys look wonderful!" Coran declared, opening up the door behind the bar. "You're helping, yes?"

"That was the plan," Allura laughed, shouldering her way past the man and dropping her bag on the ground. "Keith, is there any more setting up to do?"

He shook his head, cheeks starting to ache from smiling so much. "Nope. Should be good. Thanks, though. I'm gonna go change, if you guys are all right here?"

"We're fine, Keith," Shiro laughed. He waved his hand at him. "Go. Change. Party starts in thirty."

Keith flipped his sibling off and grabbed his backpack from one of the tables, darting down the hall to the bathroom. The lounge was already starting to fill with waiting students, some in jeans and t-shirts and others in full ball gowns, most of them showing off pride colors in some way. Keith weaved through them, subconsciously keeping an eye out for Lance, but when he didn't see him, he ducked into the bathroom.

It had taken Keith a while to figure out what he wanted to wear. He wasn't ashamed of being gay; he wouldn't live in the lgbt housing if he was at all. But he also didn't like a lot of bright color and that was…honestly kind of the point of the gay flag. He didn't want to be too dressed down for what was basically prom, but he'd also hated every moment of the full suit he wore to the one in high school.

In the end, Keith had settled on slacks and a dark red button down, sleeves rolled up and cuffed at his elbows. He pulled on rainbow socks under his Converse, a smirk tugging at his lips, and fastened a rainbow bow-tie around his neck. It was goofy, but it was subtle and still prideful, and that's what he'd wanted.

He spent some time on his hair, pulling it up at the nape of his neck and tying a rainbow ribbon around it. His last touch was a single rainbow wristband he'd stolen off one of the goody tables in the room. He'd painted his nails black the night before, and honestly, he was pleased with the overall appearance he'd put together.

He ran a Chapstick tube over his lips. Pressed them into a thin line. Took a breath. Gathered his things and left the bathroom.

The bass had started to pound through the floor already, despite the fact that the official event still didn't start for another ten minutes. Keith couldn't help but snort: the first song was Single Ladies. The gays were nothing if not predictable.

He stepped back into the room, waving at the secretary of the GSA, Shay, who was manning the sign in table. She waved back cheerfully, her cheeks covered in pan-colored glitter, and Keith slipped past carefully, dumping his bag behind her with the rest of the GSA club's stuff. "Need help?" he yelled over the sounds of Beyoncé.

Shay gave him a shake of her head and a thumbs up, and then turned to check a group of students in. Keith left her to it and crossed back to the snack bar, where Shiro had rolled up his t-shirt sleeves to show off his biceps (probably to rival Allura) and was busy handing out punch, water, and cookies.

Allura and Coran were running coffee, tea, and espresso, which Keith was not certain was a good idea. The amount of caffeine in already hyped up gay students…yikes.

"Have you seen Lance?" he asked Coran during a lull.

Coran shook his head, eyes lifting to rove over the crowd. "Not yet, my boy!"

Keith sighed and ducked away from a student in a full prom dress, backing up towards the side of the room. His ears rang as Beyoncé faded out and was replaced with something he didn't recognize, softer and more gentle, jazzy, almost.

He pulled out his phone, scrolling through to his chat with Lance, and was about to text him when a hand settled over his phone. "Five minutes in and you're already on your phone?"

Keith looked up with a witty retort that died on his tongue the moment he laid eyes on his roommate.

He was in a stark white shirt, his sleeves rolled up similarly to Keith's, and an un-tied tie, a gradient of the bi colors, dangled over his shoulders. The shirt was tucked loosely into a pair of dark-wash skinny jeans that cupped his calves and thighs like a second skin. He wore a pair of high-top sneakers that were also painted to look like the bi flag, rainbow laces in the eyes of the shoes. His wrists were covered in ribbons and bracelets, all different pride flags. His lower lobes held a pair of tiny bi earrings, and his upper lobes a pair of cats.

His face was dusted with glitter that glinted as he smiled, and his hair was slicked back in a windswept look, equal amounts of glitter resting between the strands.

"Mullet?"

"Uh…"

Lance's grin slid into a smirk. "I must look good, yeah?"

Keith mentally smacked himself in the face, clicking his phone off and snorting, pushing off the wall and past Lance. "Look like a nerd, more like."

Lance settled a hand over his heart, gasping softly, and shit his skin was gorgeous. "I'm OFFENDED, Keith. I'm so bi I took your breath away, admit it."

Keith hesitated for only a moment before shooting a withering smile over his shoulder, letting his eyes drift slowly over Lance's whole body, his gut warming. "Absolutely," he practically purred, and it was worth it to see Lance choke his next set of words.

Keith ducked into the crowd before Lance could come up with a retort.

~~

Keith was surprised to find that he had a lot to do that night. He kept checking in with Shay, restocking her papers and pens, helped Shiro and Allura run to the cafeteria to grab more napkins, silverware, and water, and at one point found himself giving the DJ a bathroom break and running the sound booth. It only took a few minutes, luckily, but Keith had never panicked more in his life.

He kept checking up on Lance the whole time of course, but he'd run into some of his friends as well and seemed to be having a good time, perking up a little whenever Keith would pop in.

Over the course of the night, the crowds started thinning, and Keith undid his bow-tie and let it hang loose around his neck, undoing the buttons of the shirt around the top. It was as the clock started getting closer to 11, the end of the dance, that he realized he had barely hung out with Lance all night.

He found him sitting at a table, stirring a drink with a straw and staring blankly over the crowd. His tie was piled on the table with his sweater, and he'd undone a few of his own shirt buttons. His hair was a little more unkempt, and Keith ached to see that he looked…almost depressed.

Lance glanced up as Keith approached, offering a wane smile. "Hey. Did you need help tearing down?"

Keith blinked. "What?"

Lance tilted his drink towards the room. "Tearing down. You seemed like you were…busy working tonight. So I assumed you might want help tearing down, is all."

A pang shot Keith in the chest, and he felt like an idiot. He'd gotten so excited about the event, about the general feeling of camaraderie from his club members, that he'd just…what, let Lance slide? After practically inviting him?

Okay, maybe Lance had kind of invited him, in a backwards way, but that didn't mean Keith wasn't at fault here. He should have been with Lance more that night.

"Tear down isn't for like, fifteen more minutes," Keith said with a shrug. He glanced towards the dance floor, which had been packed all night. It was quieter now, though the crowd was still thick, and Keith's mouth went a little dry. "Wanna dance?"

Lance blinked a few times, setting his cup down. "What?"

The song was something slow, Keith realized a bit belatedly, but it was too late. He'd already asked. "Uh…sure…I don't uh…I don't know the song, but it's…do you want to dance?"

He stared a little longer at Keith before something settled into his gaze that Keith couldn't quite place. "It's Billie Eilish," he said after a moment, standing. His lips curled into a soft smile. "It's called like, Ocean Eyes. Or something. And yeah. I'd like that."

Keith suddenly realized that he'd never danced with a guy before. He barely danced to begin with, let alone with other people. He let Lance take the lead, guiding him onto the dance floor, the edge, closer to where they could breathe, and he appreciated the gesture.

Lance eyed him like he was a wild animal when he turned, and it made Keith feel like he was something to be scared of. He didn't like the idea of Lance thinking that, so he relaxed, offering a cheeky smile. "What, too scared to touch me?"

The answer was breathier than Keith expected. "Not at all."

Lance's hands slid over his shoulders, draping around and hanging down his back, and Lance's smirk was almost convincing. Almost.

Keith let his own hands settle on Lance's hips, thumbs slipping under the pulled-up fabric of his shirt of practically their own volition. He felt Lance's breath hitch and let himself be drawn in, gliding his hands down and over the small of his back, hips closing together.

For a moment they swayed, holding breaths.

"Did you want me to come?" Lance asked after a beat, his eyes settled on the floor between them.

Keith winced. "I did," he said, putting as much sincerity as he could into the statement. "I'm glad you did. I just got so caught up in the event itself. I'm…really happy you talked me into staying."

Lance glanced up, then, and their gazes locked. What had he called this song? Ocean Eyes? Fucking appropriate as hell, all things given. Keith's heart stuttered in his chest. "Yeah?" Lance asked, his voice soft, hoarse.

God fuck it all. "Yeah," Keith breathed, his hands tightening around Lance's back. "God, I'm so glad you convinced me to do this."

His breath was hot, nose cold. The glitter on Lance's cheeks glinted as he pushed in, coarse and rough on his lips, chafing the smooth skin of Keith's. His heart thundered in his pulse, but his breaths were soft, if not a bit ragged, shaking over Lance's. His long, slender fingers slid back, thumb caressing the curve of Keith's jaw. His skin was freezing. Keith dragged his hands forward again, nails slipping under the hem of Lance's shirt, trailing over his bare skin.

Lance shivered, breaths stuttered, nose dipped, lips pressing a hot trail over Keith's jaw, slow, languid, creeping to the edge of his lobe and then sinking back down. Keith sank back, eyes fluttered, fingers tightening in Lance's shirt. His mouth pressed hot to the edge of his collar, fallen open to reveal the skin underneath, and he drew back at the last moment, breath shaky as he brought it back up to Keith's face, lips melding together for one more, brief second.

They broke to breathe, the song long over and replaced with something else, unintelligible to either of them. Their noses bumped, soft, and Lance sighed, hand still firm on Keith's neck. "I've wanted to do that…for months," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Keith huffed, certain that Shiro was probably watching everything that had just happened. "Same," he said, equally low.

"Is this…is it okay?" Lance asked, lifting his gaze again. His eyes were nervous. "Us…the rooming…will it…be okay?"

Keith let his hand dip down to the one hand remaining on his waist, twining their fingers together. "It's okay with me if it's okay with you," he answered, circling his thumb over Lance's knuckles.

"God, yes, it is."

 

 

"Well it finally took you two fucking long enough," came Allura's voice from somewhere to their left.

Lance burst into laughter, pressing his forehead into Keith's shoulder while Keith laughed and flipped off his sibling and Allura. Coran was smirking, his eyes crinkled at the edges, and Keith couldn't help but smile and shake his head, heart still pounding in his chest.

"I'd love for you to stay for tear down, by the way."

"Oh my gooodddd, you ruined the moment!" Lance whined.

Keith shoved him away, though it was futilely ruined by their still joined hands. "Because Shiro and Allura didn't!"

Shiro flung both hands up. "I did NOTHING!"

~~

"I can't believe our roommates get back at the same time," Lance noted as they walked through the airport hand in hand.

Keith squinted at Pidge's text message, nose wrinkling. "I mean, in all likelihood they were on the same trip. Gate…6B. Is what she said."

Lance hummed. "That's true. The Europe trip is one of the biggest ones. Hunk was really excited for Scotland, for some reason."

Keith paused, looking up from his phone for a second. "I'm sorry, you…Hunk?"

Lance rolled his eyes. "Yeah, it's a nickname. His actual name is-"

"Lance!"

"Keith!"

Pidge and Hunk dove from the crowd of passengers and for a moment, there was no speaking, only hugging and squealing and shouting. Passengers walked by, all of them smiling and rolling their eyes, and the moment Keith let go of Pidge she spun on Lance with a mischievous grin. "S'up, Sanchez?"

Lance blinked in bewilderment as Hunk turned to Keith, clapping him on the back with a wide grin. "Pidge?"

Keith shook his head. "Wait, you KNOW each other?"

"Oh my god, I KNEW they wouldn't realize," Pidge whooped, high fiving Hunk.

Keith held up a hand, pointing at Lance. "K, wait, Hunk…Hunk was your roommate."

"Yeah," Lance said, staring between Hunk and Keith in confusion. "Wait, how do YOU know Pidge?"

"She was my roommate!"

Hunk and Pidge were grinning, and Keith and Lance both turned to look at them. "How-?"

"We were roommates for the whole Europe trip," Pidge informed them.

"So we just…"

"Switched roommates," Keith finished for his boyfriend.

"Yup," Pidge and Hunk chorused.

"Oh my god," they groaned.

The group set off for the luggage carousels, weaving around the other passengers in the terminal. "Wait, so how long have you guys known that we unintentionally pulled a roommate switch?" Lanced demanded.

Hunk snorted. "Since Keith decked you at that party."

Keith squawked and covered his eyes with his hands. "Could we NOT bring up the time I fucking punched my boyfriend in the face?" he whined.

"BOYFRIEND?" Pidge yelped. She promptly punched Lance in the arm. "UM! You guys might have left a little detail out!"

"Well you guys have had shitty reception and it's NOT LIKE WE THOUGHT YOU KNEW EACH OTHER!" Keith shouted back.

Lance rubbed his arm. "Did you have to hit me? Jesus."

"Didn't we say they'd fall in love?" Hunk said.

"We did indeed."

"I can't believe you two," Keith grumbled, though he was smiling as he took Lance's hand back in his.

"Oh my god they're gonna be sappy," Pidge said, pointing a finger down her throat. "Take me back to Italy, please and thank you."

"Too much money," Hunk said as they reached the carousel, watching carefully for his and Pidge's luggage.

"Speaking of too much money…" Lance piped up, pointing silently to Hunk's suitcase as it rounded the corner. "You uh…did you want to move back in in the fall?"

Hunk glanced at him and Keith, a bushy eyebrow lifting. "I dunno, I think you two are more than happy to be without me."

Lance fell into a pout. "Dude, you're my best friend! Of course I want you back, I TOLD you I wouldn't replace you!"

"Well then…what about Keith? Would he move back in with Pidge? Stay with us?" Hunk grabbed up Pidge's suitcase and slung his carry-on over his shoulder. "We-"

"God, have they always been this dumb?" Pidge deadpanned.

Keith rolled his eyes. "Probably."

Lance gasped in offense. "Babe. How dare."

Keith chuckled and squeezed Lance's hand. "Well…there ARE three-bedroom apartments up for rent in our building. And four people paying rent is even more cost efficient than two."

Hunk's eyebrows shot up. "You're…saying we all move in together?"

"Are you opposed?" Keith asked. "I mean, you and I and Lance and Pidge haven't roomed together, but we all get along anyway, so…it's totally up to you guys. Just a thought."

"I'm in," Pidge said immediately. "I hate the dorms."

"Ditto," Lance confirmed, squeezing Keith's hand.

Keith shot a wry smile at Hunk. "School starts back up in three months. Be a shame not to have a roommate for your senior year when the time comes."

Hunk's lips twisted into a smirk. "Fine. I'm in. Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to go see my parents, who waited politely outside the airport like normal people."

"ExCUSE ME for wanting to welcome back my BEST FRIEND before he went HOME for the REST of the SUMMER!" Lance shouted, breaking free from Keith's grip to chase after Hunk, leaving Pidge and Keith to follow behind.

"You're excused!"

Pidge glanced at Keith. "Sure you don't want to go back to our own room?"

Keith snorted and rolled his eyes, watching as Lance jumped on Hunk's back and hugged him from behind. "Somehow I don't think that'll be as much fun."

"If we kill each other, it's your fault for responding to that stupid ad."

"Not Lance's for putting it up?"

"No. We all knew he would."

"Touché."

**Author's Note:**

> The post for Meg's art [can be found on her tumblr.](http://azure-mirror.tumblr.com/post/183084178614/they-broke-to-breathe-the-song-long-over-and) Please go shower her with praise and love bc maybe it means she'll be forced to fucking make more art. Bitch. 
> 
> I...am exhausted now lmao. Time to sleep forever.
> 
> Side note - if anyone figures out what Lance's phone number is a ref to, feel free to lmk in the comments ;)


End file.
